“The Holocaust.”
Kane froze as if the word had hit him in the stomach, hard. He looked at Fang. “For the first time in my life I’m ashamed to be an American.”
Fang reached forward, placing a hand on his knee, it her turn to provide him the comfort he apparently needed so badly. “Remember, you said this wasn’t your country anymore, so anything it does isn’t American. Your people are scared and scared people look for leaders. That’s how throughout history tyrants came to power. Now the question is whether or not this General Thorne is that tyrant, or is he just a patsy here, thinking he’s doing the right thing, but behind the scenes someone else is pulling the strings.”
Kane pursed his lips, patting her hand, his eyes travelling up her chiseled arm.
Fang found her heart begin to race as she was looked at as a woman for the first time in so long. She worked in a male dominated job and tried to minimize her female appearance as much as she could, meaning she usually made herself look like a man. But today, though she didn’t feel like she was dressed in any way appealing, this man, this man who was so not her type, was appreciating her sexually.
And it excited her.
Maybe you’ve never liked white guys because they’ve always been the enemy?
She had to admit most of her ops were in Asia, and most of the Caucasian men she had met were Russian, and they were definitely different from Americans and other Europeans. There was a misunderstanding in the Western world that Russians were like Western Europeans. They weren’t. Not at all. Much of their population lived east of the Urals, meaning they lived in Asia. Though the bulk of their population lived in geographic Europe, and many liked to think of themselves like other Europeans, their value systems were more oriental than Western. Eurasian is how Fang would describe them, and in their briefings when dealing with Russians, they were specifically taught that these men, though Caucasian in appearance, were not like those from Western Europe and the Anglosphere they were so used to dealing with.
They couldn’t be trusted.
She had thought it quite Muslim at the time. The Quran specifically states it is not permitted to lie to another Muslim except to smooth over differences, but it is perfectly acceptable to lie to the infidel—the other six billion people on the planet—to further the cause of Islam or an individual Muslim, so as to defeat the infidel. This practice extended to business dealings as well as personal relationships. In fact, the Quran also directed Muslims to not take non-believers as friends unless it is to guard themselves from them. It made her question how any true Muslim could claim to be a friend with a Christian. If they were indeed following the Quran, did it not mean they weren’t truly friends, merely covers so they could try to fit into a foreign society until the day the Caliphate was restored?
She thought of all the Muslim problems her own country was quietly having, she herself fighting many battles in the western provinces to subdue ever more frequent uprisings. She couldn’t understand how all the other cultures that made up China could live together in peace, but this one culture just couldn’t.
Perhaps it was because it was the only culture governed by a religious text that demanded they didn’t.
The world was insane.
Now here she was, alone in an aircraft with a man who was supposed to be her enemy, who was so different from any man she had ever met, that she found herself confused.
And tingling.
She felt his hand on hers, the warmth comforting, shivers racing up her spine as she caught her breath, her body giving into the sexual attraction, her mind fighting it. The only times she had been in a sexual situation with a Caucasian had been on the job, and she had been revolted every time, but not today, not here.
It’s been so long.
She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt a man’s lips against hers, flesh pressed against sweaty flesh, the feeling of a lover inside her, filling her as the troubles of the world were forgotten if just for a brief moment. What she would give right now to have that feeling once again, perhaps one last time, her future so uncertain, for even if she were to survive the next few days, her life would be that of a recluse, keeping a low profile, avoiding the public.
And never having a relationship again out of fear of being recognized and her partner being used against her.
She pulled her hand back, looking away from Kane who had a slight smile on his face. Not one indicating he found her momentary lapse amusing, simply that he seemed to understand her loneliness, and she knew if she jumped him right then and there he would be receptive.
“What’s the plan?” she asked, trying to push the lust from her mind.
“I reached Langley, people I trust, and they arranged this flight. When we land we’ll be met by more people I trust. Unfortunately with the coup having already taken place, I’m not sure yet what we can do. Being Stateside however at least gets me into the thick of things. My people think the epicenter of this is at Fort Myer in DC. We’ll—”
The cockpit door opened and the co-pilot walked briskly toward them, Fang not liking the look on his face. “We’ve got trouble,” said the man, pointing out the window.
Fang looked through one of the small portholes and gasped. Two F-22 Raptors were on their wing. Her head spun and she saw two more on the other side.
“They’re demanding we follow them in. Some private airstrip.” He handed Kane a piece of paper. “You better let your people know.” He returned to the cockpit, the door closing with a bang.
Kane frowned as he pulled out his phone. “They obviously know we’re on board.”
“But how?”
“My guess is we’ve got a mole somewhere.”
“Inside the CIA?”
“I think the entire country’s been compromised in one way or other.”
“So we can’t trust anyone.” Fang felt her heart sink as her chest tightened.
“No, I wouldn’t say that.”
Operations Center 3, CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia
An alarm blared nearly causing Leroux to piss his pants. He was so on edge with everything going on he wasn’t sure how much more he could take. He was just an analyst, an analyst thrust into a supervisory position without his consent, with a girlfriend being tortured by citizens of his own country, possibly his own military, with his best and only friend being pursued by the same rogue elements.
Only they weren’t rogue anymore. They were in charge of the country, or at least that was his theory. He wasn’t sure if General Thorne was involved. All they knew was that the President’s assassin had nodded toward stairs that General Thorne was standing on, but other than that they had no evidence he was behind anything. He was so high in the ranks before becoming the top dog that you’d be hard pressed to find a soldier in the Army that hadn’t served directly under him at one time or another, so the fact Colonel Booker had reported to him meant little.
Was Booker and his team orchestrating events for their own perceived greater good, with General Thorne merely the unintended beneficiary? Had martial law been the endgame all along? If so, and they were indeed behind the attacks, they had orchestrated it beautifully.
With military precision.
But was Thorne involved? Leroux was certain either he or his aide were, and it wouldn’t be the first time in history the man pulling the strings was an underling.
“What if the nod was a blind?”
He blurted it out loud, Morrison staring at him as he held his phone to his head to find out why the sirens were sounding. He snapped his fingers at Leroux, pointing up. Leroux looked at Dillard who nodded, the sirens silenced within moments, their dull drone still audible on the other side of the nearly soundproofed room.
“What was that?” asked Morrison, finally able to hear. “You’re kidding me!” He hung up his phone. “The military is surrounding this facility. They claim it’s a security measure but I think we know that’s bullshit.”
Leroux felt faint. “They’ve discovered th
e tap.”
“That’s my guess.” Morrison headed for the door. “Download everything you need, wipe all record of what you’ve been doing, then follow me.”
A flurry of keyboard activity was quickly followed by chairs kicked out as Leroux’s team jumped to their feet, grabbing what few personal belongings they had with them. Leroux initiated a wipe protocol, a countdown appearing on the displays showing less than two minutes to expected completion.
Morrison marched down the hallway, Leroux bringing up the rear, making sure none of his people were left behind. As they approached the elevators Leroux couldn’t believe his eyes. This wasn’t the CIA. This was mass panic. It was clear nobody was certain what to do. The military was surrounding the facility, that Leroux had caught several glimpses of from windows as they passed and several security feeds being shown on television screens. But the scary fact was that it was all legal under the new laws, or lack thereof.
The military was in charge. They could very well be here to secure the CIA from attack.
Or it could all be bullshit and they were here to stop the CIA from performing its illegal investigation.
His illegal investigation.
But then again what was illegal now? With the Constitution suspended, none of what he had done was illegal. However hacking a military network was probably considered treason, the penalty for which he had no doubt was death.
Morrison ordered an elevator cleared and jammed the team plus himself inside, hitting a button for the lower levels, the doors closing. As soon as they were sealed inside he swiped his security pass then entered a code, using the numbers of the elevator’s operating panel as a keypad.
The lights changed from a bright white to a reddish hue as the elevator descended past the lowest level and continued, much to the shock of all those aboard. Leroux had heard rumors of a nuclear bunker below Langley but had never actually seen any evidence of it. It was simply a joke, he thought, something the guys left over from the Cold War would mention from time-to-time with a wink.
They should put the rookies in the bunker for a couple of weeks, see what it was like in the old days.
It had been overheard in his first week on the job in the cafeteria lineup. Several laughs had been the reward, all by silver haired men loading up on low-cholesterol greens.
He hadn’t paid it any mind, merely smiling awkwardly at the cashier who seemed to know exactly what the inside joke meant.
The doors opened and Morrison led them out. Four armed guards were there to greet them, Morrison swiping his card and placing his hand on a scanner. Doors on the opposite wall slid open. It was then that Leroux noticed the gun ports on either side, what looked like 50 caliber barrels trained on them. Morrison looked at the guard in charge.
“Code Tango Red.”
The man’s eyes bulged and he nodded. “Yes, sir.” The four guards immediately stepped into the elevator as Leroux’s team cleared the large metal doors that had opened with Morrison’s palm print. More guards were inside, readying weapons.
Leroux caught up to Morrison. “Sir, what’s going on?”
“This is ‘The Bunker’. I assume you’ve heard of it?”
Leroux nodded. “I thought it was just a joke.”
Morrison shook his head as they continued down a hallway, past door upon door. “It was built during the Cold War to survive a nuclear attack. The guards will secure the elevator so that no one else can come down here using it, and should they manage to make it down the elevator shaft, there’s no way they’re getting through those doors without some heavy duty equipment,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
“What are all these rooms?”
“Sleeping quarters, cafeteria, entertainment, supplies, bathrooms. Everything we’ll need to hunker down for months, or longer considering our small size.”
“But what about the others?”
“This isn’t a nuclear war. They’ll be safe as long as they don’t resist the regime change.”
Morrison swiped his card on a panel, the door flanked by two armed guards. A large, ultra-modern operations center was revealed. Morrison stopped the herd.
“People, once we pass through these doors, there’s no coming out. We will be in lockdown. Nobody from the outside can open them.” He paused. “I trust all of you because I know all of you. We must trust in each other. This will be difficult, this will be challenging, this will be frustrating. Just remember that what we do here today is for our country. We may be the only people who know the truth about what is going on. It is up to us to find the proof then present it to the American people so they can do the right thing and take back their country.”
He paused, his stare moving from one to the next, finally resting on a terrified Leroux.
“This is a coup d’état people. It’s up to us to save our country.”
Redding Jet Center, Redding, California
“Yup, we’ve got company.”
It was déjà vu all over again as Kane watched three SUV’s roll up to the plane as it finished taxying, the small private airstrip they had been ordered to not in any way associated with the government as far as Kane could see.
This is completely off the books, even in our ‘new’ USA.
It made him wonder what was truly going on. If the military was in complete control, then why hide the fact they were arresting them? Why not just order them to a military airbase where they would be assured of full control? Were there two elements at play here? Or three if the terrorist attacks truly weren’t part of the scheme to gain power? He would like to dismiss the third element but couldn’t with one hundred percent certainty. All he knew for certain was that the America he had been born into no longer existed and he was determined to take it back.
There was no doubt there was one element at play regardless of who was the source of the terrorist attacks. Someone had stolen an F-35, someone had made a deal with the Chinese, a deal that made the Chinese bold enough to attack an American nuclear submarine, and coincidentally halt the pursuit the moment martial law had been declared. It was also a deal that was long term, it taking time to invade and secure Mongolia, Taiwan and the South China Sea.
Whoever had made that deal had no intention of handing power back to civilian authority.
They were in this for the long term.
And now it was up to him to figure out who they were.
But first he’d have to deal with their operatives.
He snapped the clip from his pen, sticking it between his teeth and cheek, then stuffed the pen into a seat-back pouch. The door was opened by the co-pilot who stood back as two men boarded, weapons drawn.
There were no introductions this time.
Eight more men greeted them as they descended the steps to the tarmac, it not worth the effort to try and kill them all now—they might just have a chance of subduing him and Fang. Instead he’d have to reduce the numbers and improve the odds. The first was by getting into a vehicle, immediately reducing the numbers by however many didn’t join them.
As he expected, metal handcuffs were clasped around their wrists, these men apparently learning from the deadly encounter their colleagues in Korea had enjoyed. Zipties were simply a joke for anything beyond crowd control. Any seriously trained individual could escape them in seconds, but metal handcuffs were different. They required a tool.
His tongue flicked over the clip in his mouth.
They were placed in the back of one of the SUV’s, the scene playing out as almost a mirror image of Korea. Four men in the lead and trailing vehicles, a driver and passenger in their vehicle.
They’re following the manual a little too rigidly.
If it were him, especially after what had happened in Korea, he would have split them up into two vehicles, put a man in the backseat with him, and definitely clasped his hands in front where they could be seen.
The convoy got underway and Kane turned to Fang. “One last kiss, darling?” Before she could react he leaned in and
placed an open mouth kiss on her that he could tell shocked her at first, but when she seemed to get into it, he found his own sense of arousal make its presence known.
He shoved the clip in her mouth, her eyes popping open wide as she realized what the purpose of the kiss was.
“Settle down back there!”
Kane broke the kiss, turning forward. “Sorry, boss, I couldn’t resist.”
He turned slightly, feigning looking out his window, cupping his hands behind him. “Look at that. Beautiful country.”
Fang leaned forward. “Hopefully I’ll get to see it someday.” Her breath was hot on the back of his neck, and as she returned to her position, he felt the clip drop into his hand. He straightened himself.
“You will. I’m sure this is all just a misunderstanding.”
He jammed the clip into the teeth of the cuffs, wiggling it in past each tooth. Suddenly one wrist was freed and he quickly moved on to the other, it too open within seconds.
He slipped the clip to Fang who he hoped would be as adept at picking handcuffs as he was.
She nodded to him within seconds.
Perhaps better than me.
Something streaked from a field to their right, a plume of smoke Kane would recognize anywhere.
A rocket, most likely from a Shoulder-launched Multipurpose Assault Weapon.
He shoved Fang down as he ducked himself, keeping just high enough to see the lead vehicle take a hit to the rear, the explosion igniting the gas tank, launching the ass end of the SUV into the air, flipping it end over end. Kane whipped around as a second explosion erupted behind them, the tail car taking a hit through the driver side window, the warhead detonating inside.
Poor bastards.
Death to America (A Special Agent Dylan Kane Thriller, Book #4) Page 17
